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Why the fuck do I even care? That’s the question I can’t figure out the answer to. I don’t even know this chick. I don’t need her approval or any shit like that. However, knowing I don’t need it does nothing to change the fact that I want it. I want her to see me for me, not the Liam King the media portrays me to be. Just boring, old me.
The kid who spent all his free time perfecting his game. When I wasn’t looking out for my little brother, making sure he had at least one meal a day, I was the kid skating or sliding around a puck. I was the kid who kept to himself, out of fear that everyone at school would find out that he was poor. The kid who had to steal food sometimes just to be able to feed his mother and brother. I’m the kid my father never wanted. The kid who had so many fucking insecurities growing up.
Insecurities that I thought I didn’t possess anymore. Turns out, I was wrong. Because sitting across from this perfect little ice princess, I feel less-than. I hate her for making me feel like this again, like I’m not good enough.
I watch as she picks up her burger and takes as big of a bite out of it as her mouth can fit. She doesn’t care that the sauce and grease drip down her chin as she closes her eyes and tips her head back…moaning.
Fucking foodgasms. This is what she was talking about. Now my dick is rock-hard as I think about all the ways I could force those sounds out of her myself. When she swallows, I get a clear image of her swallowing me.
Aliyah opens her eyes and looks my way. “What?” she asks, picking up a napkin and swiping it across her face.
I shake my head. “Nothing,” I grunt and reach for my own burger. I don’t usually eat shit like this during the season. I have a strict diet plan that I stick to. I’ll just have to find a way to burn off the excess calories later. I wrap my mouth around the bun, and the second I bite into the meat, a taste explosion hits my tongue. Holy shit, she wasn’t wrong. This has to be one of the best burgers I’ve ever eaten.
“Well?” Aliyah prompts.
I lift one shoulder. “It’s okay,” I tell her.
“Oh, come on, it’s better than okay. Admit it,” she says.
“Admit that you like me first,” I dare her to say the words.
“The problem with that is… I’m not a liar. So, sorry, not gonna happen.”
Well, shit, that stings. “You lied to me yesterday,” I point out.
“When?”
“When you took me to your brother’s house under the guise that you lived there.”
“I didn’t lie. I said I didn’t live alone, and Idohave a bedroom at Gray’s, sotechnicallyI kinda do live there,” she says and then proceeds to sink her teeth into her burger again.
I close my eyes as the sounds of her moans go right through me. “If you keep moaning like that, we’re going to have a problem,” I tell her.
“What? Like what? I’m not moaning,” she insists as her cheeks turn a new shade of pink.
“My cock says otherwise. It happens to like the sounds of your moans, a fucking lot. Which is a problem for both of us.”
“That seems like it’s definitely ayouproblem, and not ameproblem.” Aliyah pops a fry into her mouth.
“No, it’s anusproblem, because if you keep turning me on, I’m going to do everything in my power to wear you down until you let me fuck you. Which won’t take long, especially if I pull out everything in my arsenal.” I lift an eyebrow before adding, “And we both know it’ll be anusproblem if I fuck you. Because, one, I work for your father and, two,I work for your father.”
“Your ego knows no bounds, you know that? You don’t need to worry, because there is absolutely nothing you can do that will ever make me want to fuck you.”
“You see, now, that’s just a challenge, which only turns me on more. It’s been a while since I’ve been challenged.”
Aliyah rolls her eyes. “Shut up and eat your burger before it gets cold.”
For some fucked-up reason, I follow her instructions and do just that. After inhaling the burger, barely remembering to chew, I wipe my face with a napkin. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?” I ask her, trying to make polite conversation.
“Whatever your plans are. My job is to follow you around and stop you from making mistakes.”
“I don’t make mistakes,” I tell her.
“Beating up your coach wasn’t a mistake?” she throws back, her jaw slightly dropped in shock.
“Nope.”
“Allowing yourself to be photographed with puck bunnies and a shit-ton of cocaine on the table wasn’t a mistake?”
